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Standing at the top of the narrow staircase, I peered into the darkness, looking for some sign of welcome. I recall a blur of flashing lights, the ground beneath my feet literally shaking. A whoosh of noise and heat came rushing up the stairs, spilling out onto the street, and I walked away, too intimidated to make the descent into the unknown. It would be another two years before I plucked up the courage to return.

The prism of nostalgia may convince us of an alternative view, but Dublin in the mid eighties was a grim place to grow up in. Mass unemployment, a thriving heroin problem and the shadow of forced emigration hung over every kid as they progressed through the education system. Hope was in short supply. In times of despair, we often turn to music – to escape and to dream. Dublin didn’t have much back then, but it did have music.

The Celibate Rifles, The Underground 1987. Photo: George Curran

We were awash with it. The live music scene in Dublin during the eighties was at its most vibrant. Punk and its aftershock, meant that kids could see an escape route. Punk introduced the idea that anyone could make music, that it was no longer the preserve of the technically gifted ‘musician’. By the mid eighties, there was an explosion of new bands following in the footsteps of U2 – new venues were springing up across the city.

The Underground Bar on Dame Street was one such venue. Situated on one of the busiest intersections in the city centre, a passer-by would easily miss it if it wasn’t for the iconic London Underground rail symbol that marked the narrow doorway leading down to its subterranean location.

A tricky, tight staircase (perilous if inebriated) brought you down to a long narrow bar – immediately to the right and just behind you at the foot of the stairs was the tiny stage. When the band were playing, a trip to the toilets was fraught with the risk of decapitation – passing immediately alongside the right side of the stage to get there, it usually involved a well timed duck under the neck of a guitar to make it through.

A particularly animated bass player and you might decide to hold on until the gig was over. A leftie on that side of the stage, and you were in business. Safe passage.

The bar itself wasn’t anything special – it wasn’t plastered with posters or rock memorabilia. It wasn’t a hang out for Dublin celebrities. It was a place for genuine music fans, there was no bullshit VIP area (incredibly, such a thing existed in Dublin nightclubs, even in the grim 80s) or welcome mat laid out for Dublin scene-sters.

Much of what made the Underground unique was down to the venue manager Jeff Brennan, the man who pulled the pints and booked the bands. Jeff was a straight talking, no nonsense Dubliner who didn’t suffer fools gladly. What you saw was what you got with Jeff and together with his father Noel he gave musicians a chance to grow and develop, treating all the bands he booked fairly while patiently tolerating prima donna’s, the clueless and a motley crew of inner city characters that regularly dropped in during the day when the place was at its quietest.

Something Happens

As a new band, securing a headline gig in Dublin was nigh on impossible during that period – the Underground put on bands that no other venue would touch. Bands with no profile, no obvious crowd pulling appeal. That policy ensured that some of the finest Irish acts of that era took their early tentative steps on the cramped Underground stage – bands like Something Happens, The Stars of Heaven, A House, Engine Alley, the Slowest Clock, The Power of Dreams, The Fountainhead, Into Paradise, Guernica, the Gorehounds, Therapy?, The Fat Lady Sings, the Would Bes – the list is endless.

Acts that achieved varying degrees of success on the national and international stage and influenced a generation of musicians that came after them. On a good night, the place would be heaving, 150 souls crammed into this small space, free from the harsh realities of the city outside.

After last orders were called, the crowd would surface, up the stairs and back out into the real world. But for regulars, the night was far from over – the Underground lock-ins were legendary. Once that door was slammed shut, nobody got in, and nobody got out – the real magic of the Underground was about to happen. Over more pints, plans for world domination were forged, dreams of sold out stadium tours took shape and a brighter future always seemed within touching distance.

A House

It was here that life long friendships formed, romances blossomed and by the time we stumbled out bleary eyed into pre-dawn Dublin, plans were already being hatched for the next gig, the next night out – very often it would be that very next evening.

When the doors of the Underground closed for the last time in the early nineties, it felt like the end of something truly special, the end of an era. Dublin was changing, the nineties ushered in a period when we started to get notions about ourselves, and places like the Underground seemed like a quaint relic of the not too distant past.

The final night was like something from the film Cinema Paradiso – grown men cried, mementoes were ripped from the walls – someone even laid claim to the toilet bowl; everyone wanted a small piece of a place that had been a big part of our lives as young adults.

Engine Alley

We knew we would not see the likes of that special place again, and by God, we were right. Dublin was in the early stages of being yuppified and by the time the Celtic Tiger started to roar, the city had become unrecognisable in so many ways.

It is still there, the same doorway, the same spot. It is now a lap dancing bar providing cheap thrills to a different beat. I pass it occasionally, the door invariably closed, a lock-in of a different kind.

The second time: we were just kids, couldn’t get a gig to save our lives. The mantra was always the same: ‘have you got a demo tape? ‘ Of course we didn’t; young and impoverished, we barely had our own instruments. Buoyed only by enthusiasm we concocted a cunning plan. We would try to pass off someone else’s music as our own, choosing an obscure early Pop Will Eat Itself E.P. that we reckoned nobody would have heard of. It was a fool-proof plan – and Jeff was to be our first victim.

We descended the stairs, trying not to betray any sign of nervous trepidation. Seated at the end of the bar, Jeff eyed us with curiosity as we made the long walk towards him, another bunch of greenhorns with stupid haircuts and stars in their eyes.

‘We are looking for a gig – here’s our demo’ we blurted.

‘Yeah, when do you want to play?’ was the reply.

We were not expecting that.

‘Eh, four weeks time?”

‘I will put you down for a Thursday night’ he said, ignoring the cassette on offer. No questions about who we had supported. No demo tape required. Our first proper headline gig.

That was Jeff. That was the Underground.

Words by Paul Page

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35 Comments

Aug30

Pat Clafferty

Jeff and his Dad were so great to us in Mexican Pets. Jill and myself would toddle off for chips at Noel’s tiny chipper after the Underground. So many memories. Thanks for the words Paul. Lovely.

Thanks Pat – he was always very good to us too. Bands with an attitude or any airs and graces got short shrift from Jeff. He ad no time for spoofers.Great memories -happiest time I experienced playing with my band.

Paul, thanks for rekindling memories of all those great times in Dublin’s CBGBs! I recently took the plunge and visited Dave Judge’s ‘new’ Underground a few doors down – it’s pleasingly similar to the original Underground (bigger) in layout. Surely somebody will make a documentary about the original? It’s also worth giving a shout out to the fantastic Comet records who, along with Jeff, gave an outlet to edgy music when it was tough to get an outlet. Great piece!

Thanks David -haven’t been to the ‘new’ Underground yet. Part of me doesn’t want to. Hard to explain. It was so much a part of my late teens early twenties, I am not sure I want to revisit it. It was a special place. And you are right – Comet and Freebird Record were an integral part of a Dublin music scene when we actually had real music fans! It would be fantastic if someone took a chance on making a documentary or writing a book about the place, it was a small venue that made a big impact, a real proving ground for young bands.

That was a trip down memory lane ☺
I was also a regular in The Underground back in the day. The sun was rising by the time we left for home after some great nights in there. Super venue, Jeff and Noel were such nice guys.
Was also a fan of Whipping Boy

Super Stuff And Superbly Written Paul…I Misspent Most Of My Youth Down Those Red Stairs, And If There Was No Lock-In..We Would Head Around The Corner To Faces (Bubbles) And Dance To Soft Cell and The Cure..It Will Always Hold A Special Place In My Heart, And good On Ya For Writing This 10 Outta 10!!

Thanks Sean – I can remember the posters that used to be dotted around town for many of the bands but don’t recall seeing that one! And with a name like that, I am pretty sure I would have no problem recalling it :)…Yeah, good times indeed – nowhere like it since…

Thanks for the kind words Liam – always amazed that people still listen to the records all these years later. We must have frequented the same places – Olympic and McGonagles were regular haunts for me also 🙂

Many thanks Gerard – there are a lot of bands that passed through those doors – I like to think that if it wasn’t for the Underground, we wouldn’t have gone on to make Heartworm – couldn’t get a gig anywhere else at the time!

Well written, it brought back some great memories of playing there. Jeff Brennan did more for music in this city than most of the paid Arts Council events put together. I started a Facebook page recently to try capture memories, photos and maybe even sound & video of the venue. https://www.facebook.com/The-Underground-Dublin-156523331039503

I agree Peter – Jeff gave bands an opportunity at a time when getting a gig in Dublin wasn’t easy…have seen your Facebook page – great to see that people are sharing their memories of a place that was a huge part of our lives back then..

Brings it all back, Jeff was a diamond geezer. I cut my musical teeth so to speak in band called The Incinerators and their Electric Grandmother circa 1987. A short-lived band with more people on stage than in the audience most nights, but we had a blast. I went on to work as member of The Pale (1990 to 1992, anyway that’s another story, the Underground will always hold a special place in my heart.
Thanks for the memories,
All the best,
Sean

Nice article. I have some great memories of the venue too. Though it was a real firetrap I’m sure.
That’s my photo of The Celibate Rifles in the article. You could get close up to the band due to the “intimate” nature of the venue. Only problem was trying to take a photo and jostling for space with people coming and going to the loos. Happy Days!

I am glad you like it Jeff – I put off writing it for so long because I didn’t think I could do the place and what you created there justice. So many great memories.-I remember you giving me a lift home after one of our first gigs and you lugging my amp up all the stairs in Dominick St – that wouldn’t have happened in the Baggot!